


A series of Portraits

by irismoon



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-06-01
Updated: 2014-08-19
Packaged: 2018-02-03 01:39:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 6,276
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1726466
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/irismoon/pseuds/irismoon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Trying something different.  Robar Fowler has been traveling throughout Westeros practicing his art.  When he becomes weary of the horrors he has witnessed due to the war, he finds inspiration again upon meeting a few unique souls, each with their own scars from the war.  (I suck at summaries)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Gravedigger :  The Silent Giant of The Quiet Isle

**Author's Note:**

> The name of my original character is borrowed from my friend's Game Of Thrones Ascent Character :)
> 
> It all belongs to GRRM. 
> 
> This is not betaed probably a mess, but positive criticism is welcome. Please be kind. 
> 
> Spoilers thru AFFC and all 4 Seasons of GOT
> 
> Also i have little knowledge on drawing techniques or what kinds of tools and materials would be available to someone living in the time period of ASOIAF so i am just sort of winging it.

The Quiet Isle was the last place Robar Fowler expected to end up, but here he sat, back against the rough bark of a large oak tree, knees raised with his sketchbook resting against them as he began to draw. Three years earlier he had left his home in Dorne to travel with hopes to see the world, drawing the great wonders of the seven kingdoms. His knapsack was full of books containing his work, capturing the sights he had seen on his journey. When he left home he expected his books to soon be filled with wonders such as the majestic harvests from the fields of Highgarden or the great ships setting sail in Lannisport, instead the pages were filled with images of the horror he had seen throughout his travels. The war that had come to Westeros was portrayed in great detail in his drawings of the burned ruins that had once been septs, bloody wounded soldiers dying along the roadside, and rotted corpses hanging from trees. The images that haunted him the most were the ones he had drawn of a group of peasant children, their eyes wide with fear, faces gaunt from starvation. 

How he had managed to survive traveling alone all this time, narrowly escaping the perils of war, was a mystery even to himself. He had very little combat training, always preferring to hold a quill or paintbrush in his hand instead of a sword, but he knew enough to protect himself. He was born to a prominent family from Dorne but spent his childhood at the water gardens among the children of both highborn and lowborn, where even bastards and servants were all treated alike, so he knew how to blend in with the common folk. On one occasion when he chanced to sleep along side a broken stone wall, he awoke to find a man wearing rags, digging through his bags, looking for coin or food, but finding only his pigments and charcoals, books and papers, he fled upon being caught. 

He glanced up for a moment at the subject of his latest drawing, squinting against the glare of the sun, and returned to his gaze to the paper. The giant brother who dug the graves had captured his attention from the moment he arrived. The man stood taller than any other he had ever seen, but it was his eyes that mesmerized him upon their meeting. They reminded him of dark grey clouds, foretelling the danger of an upcoming storm as they peered at him from among the heavy hood and scarves he wore to hide his face. When his horse had gotten trapped in the muddy ground of the marsh lands that surrounded the quiet isle, it was the gravedigger who had found him and helped to free his horse. The Elder Brother invited him to stay a few days while his horse rested his injured leg and Robar was thankful for the chance to rest someplace safe.

The Quiet Isle was a refreshing change after the years of horrors he had seen while on the road. Even a few of his brief visits to Noble households, were sad affairs, the remaining household consisting of grieving women, their husbands, fathers and sons being lost to the fighting. When he expressed his astonishment at finding a place so untouched by the war, the Elder Brother brought him here, to the lich yard and pointed out a row of fresh graves, where the victims of the Saltpans massacre had been recently laid to rest. It was then that he again noticed the brother that had helped his horse, the large silent one with the hidden face, who dug the graves. 

His intention this morning had been to sketch the lich yard, the mounds of freshly dug dirt, grave markers consisting of a rough wooden sign or a simple pile of stones. Upon his arrival, he could not seem to take his thoughts away from the gravedigger, and now here he sat, sketching, attempting to capture the broadness of his shoulders, and the strength of his arms as he brought the shovel down into the dirt again and again. After he had begun his work, a large dog had arrived to sit at the large mans feet, and the gravedigger briefly stopped his digging to set his hand upon the dogs head. This was how he was attempting to capture him now, Standing tall beside a half dug grave, one hand ruffling the ears of the old dog, shovel in the other, with the setting sun at his back. 

When he finished signed his name in the corner and wrote along the bottom of the paper. 

The Gravedigger. The Silent Giant of the Quiet Isle.


	2. Portrait of a Lady :  Myranda Royce

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the comments on this story so far. Hoping to get the 3rd chapter done and posted in the next few days.

Robar sat in the grand parlor room painting the lovely woman that sat in front of him. She was a lively girl, a great beauty, but far from being the most ideal subject to paint. She seemed to be unable to sit still for even an instant, in fact, just this moment, She threw her arms up as she squealed in delight at a bawdy joke one of her bastard girlfriends just told. 

From the Quiet Isle he had traveled toward the Vale, where he had heard from others of his trade that the Lady Arryn welcomed artists and musicians alike, and kept several favorites employed in her own household. Upon his arrival to The Gates of The Moon and the house of Lord Nester Royce, he learned that the Lady Arryn had died, and Lord Petyr Baelish was Lord Protector of the Vale. It was here that he met the Lady Myranda Royce, who quickly commissioned him to paint a portrait of her, after browsing his portfolio. 

She had a mass of curly brown hair and big dark eyes. She was dressed in a heavy velvet gown that was cut low and showed off her ample breasts. His gaze must have lingered on them for a moment, for she suddenly grinned and leaned forward slightly giving him a better view of the creamy pale skin of her bosom. He smiled and returned to his work. He was sure with minimal effort he could find his way into her bed if he wished. He had known girls such as her before, he was from Dorne after all, and the girls there did not view promiscuity as a sin. It was a rare thing to find a highborn girl north of the Reach with the same views, but he was not interested in her beyond this portrait. The coin she promised to pay for this sitting would see him through the next few months of his travels. 

She was accompanied by two friends, both bastard girls with the surname Stone. The older one was introduced as Mya, a pretty girl with dark hair cropped short, and dressed in breeches and a leather vest. The second was a quiet and shy girl named Alayne. Together the two of them were looking through his sketchbooks, admiring his work. Mya was particularly interested in a nude portrait he had drawn of a pretty girl named Bella from a brothel called the Peach. She laughed as the the girl Alayne looked away blushing at the image when she showed it to her. 

"Seven Hells! That is one big man!" the girl Mya exclaimed as she looked over at the picture that Alayne had been focused on, holding up his latest sketch of the gravedigger. Robar had glanced over several times and saw the girl holding the book in her hands, staring intently at one of his drawing, and he had been curious on which one she was admiring. Mya was already picking up the next book of pictures but Alayne seemed to be unable to take her eyes away from the picture, and he noticed her hands were trembling. She must have felt his gaze upon her, for she looked up then and saw him, and blushing she set the book aside. 

That evening after he had completed the portrait, and was packing his supplies away, Alayne returned to the room. When he had finished painting Myranda had hurried away with her new picture to present it to her father, taking her friends with her. He was surprised to see the girl return, but the real shock was when she picked up the same sketchbook as before and turned directly to the portrait of the Gravedigger. He slowly walked to stand beside her. 

"Forgive me, I wished to have a second look at this drawing." she said, tracing her finger carefully along the edge of the drawing. "It is a fascinating piece." 

"Thank you My Lady. This is one of my most recent portraits." 

"Can you tell me about this man? Who was he?" she asked. 

"Its all there in the picture. He was one of the silent brothers from the Quiet Isle. He was digging the graves. He was an impressing figure, so I felt compelled to draw him." 

"He reminds me of someone, someone I knew when I was a young girl. Its odd, I can not even see his face, but I feel as though I am looking right at him. Perhaps it is his eyes, the detail is exquisite." 

"Perhaps it is the same man?" 

She shook her head, and set the book down. "No, it could not be him. He is dead." she started to walk away but hesitated, and almost as if she could not help herself, her fingers came down to touch the edge of the paper again. 

"Would you like to have it?" 

She looked up at him surprised. "I am afraid I have no coin to purchase it from you." 

"Perhaps we could work something out, a trade of sorts?" He placed his hand on her arm, and felt her immediately tense up. She pulled away, and he immediately cursed himself for making her think poorly of him. "Forgive me My Lady, you misunderstood. I only mean, I could gift you the drawing, in exchange for a sitting. Pose for me like your friend Lady Royce did this afternoon and the drawing is yours." 

"Like Randa did today, or would you have me pose, like those other girls?" she asked hesitantly. 

He smiled warmly at her, hoping to not scare her any further. "You would not have to do anything except sit here and let me draw you." 

She shook her head. "My father would not like it. Someone might see the picture and recognize me." she whispered, the fear in her voice evident. 

"Recognize you?" he asked. 

Her demeanor suddenly changed and Robar felt as if he were now looking at a different person. "I just mean, someone could perhaps get the wrong idea, seeing a picture of me along side pictures of those other girls." 

"I understand My lady." he picked up the book and closed it, and continued to pack his supplies away. When he was finished he turned to see her still standing there. After a moment she took a deep breath, and calmly turned and walked over to the place were Myranda had been sitting earlier and sat down smoothing her skirts before looking up at him and nodding.

Robar smiled and pulled out his case of charcoal and pigments, and sitting back down he happily began to draw.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Coming soon, Alayne Stone.


	3. A Bastard Girl from the Vale.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For this chapter I based my picture of Alayne off the wonderful illustration by Elia Fernández
> 
> http://elia-illustration.deviantart.com/art/Alayne-Stone-271957783

Now that he was sitting here, Robar now realized just how foolish his idea was. After leaving the Vale he had intended to journey north to White Harbor and find a ship that would finally take him home to Dorne, when suddenly he had been struck with the mad romantic notion to return to the Quiet Isle and gift the Gravedigger the portrait of the girl Alayne, in the odd chance that they were long lost lovers or some other nonsense that would be in a story or song. Sitting anxiously in the hard wooden chair in the Elder Brothers solar, he waited as the large man sat looking at the picture in his hands. He had just gotten done telling the two of them the story of the his visit to the Vale and about the girl in the picture. He tried to glimpse any emotion on the gravediggers face, but it was difficult due to the cowl and hood he wore, that identified him as a Novice. 

After a agonizing long time, the Gravedigger sat the picture down on the desk. He spoke not a word, and finally the Elder Brother spoke up. "Brother, you know that your vow of silence is lifted inside this room. Is there anything you wish to say? Perhaps you have recognized the young girl in the portrait." 

The giant man grunted, then after a few moments he finally spoke. "It isn't her." He glared at the Elder Brother, as he spoke, his voice rough from disuse. 

"Do you recognize her? Was their someone you were expecting it to be?" Robar asked excitedly, happy that perhaps his idea had not been crazy after all. 

The Gravedigger pushed the picture away, "It isn't her, the hair is all wrong." He stood and began to leave the room. 

Robar jumped up and looked down at the image. "What is wrong with her hair? She had beautiful hair, and I was rather pleased by the way it turned out." 

"Her hair should be the color of fire." he growled. 

"So if the hair was different, would this be your lady?" he questioned 

He barked out a laugh, "She was never my lady." Suddenly the gravedigger was mad. He snatched the image off the table and threw it at the Elder Brother. "You thought this would make me feel better. Look at this girl. She is sad. Broken. Defeated." He spit out each word like it was painful. "It might as well be the Little Bird. I would expect her to be nothing but a shell of her former self after everything she has been through. Most likely she is a pretty corpse somewhere instead. What did you think I would gain by looking at this." He paced the room as he ranted, clenching his hands at his sides. 

The elder brother smiled at the big man calmly. "You would have the knowledge that the girl is alive. Which is more than the rest of the Kingdom has." 

"It does not matter. It isn't her. Just some other broken girl. The world is full of them." With that he stormed out of the room. 

Robar sat back down. "I apologize for upsetting him. I had a feeling that I could not shake, that perhaps they had been separated by the war. After the horrors I have seen, I suppose I got caught up with the idea that someones story could have a happy ending. I am truly an artist at heart, and sometimes I am afraid my creative spirit runs away with my mind. I should have known better." 

The Elder Brother simply smiled at him. "Perhaps the Gods sent you here with your picture for a reason, I would not ignore your artistic intuition just quite yet." He gave him a wink, and Robar was left alone with only a picture of a sad bastard girl from the Vale to keep him company.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter seemed shorter :( Sorry, i will try and have the next chapter up in the next day or so. upcoming chapters i have planned
> 
> A girl with a Little Bird  
> The Cats of Braavos  
> A girl in a torn Dress


	4. A girl with a Little Bird.

Robar yawned as he packed his saddle bags, he had not gotten much sleep. After the Elder Brother had shown him to a small cabin where he could rest for the night, he had taken the drawing of Alayne and sat by the fire looking at it. The words of the Gravedigger kept repeating over and over in his mind, until he finally pulled out his supplies and began to draw again. First he worked on the face, trying to keep her features the same, but attempting to portray a different emotion this time. He did not wish to draw her smiling, but instead tried to keep her looking happy and confident. 

The harder task was her hair. The Gravedigger had mentioned the hair should be the color of flames. He pulled out his different pigments and tried them all, the crimson, the burnt orange, the copper, and vermilion. The change in the hair color did seem to give the girl a sort of otherworldly beauty, that the plain chestnut color did not. When he was done with the drawing, he remembered something else that the Gravedigger had said. He had called her a Little Bird. Robar picked up the blue pigment, the same one he had used for her eyes and began to work on a small bluebird, perched upon her shoulder. 

Now as he prepared to leave the Quiet Isle for good, he found himself looking over his shoulder. Even from here he could see the large man digging his graves. Taking a deep breath and pulling the picture from his bag, he walked toward the lich yard. The Gravedigger did not acknowledge him as he approached, just continued to dig. 

"I know that I am probably the last person you wish to speak to. I am leaving, heading home to Dorne. I would still like for you to have the drawing." The gravedigger did not turn to face him, but did stop digging for a moment. Robar hurried to continue. "I changed it, I tried to draw her like you described her, with hair the color of flames." 

The gravedigger turned and looked down at the drawing. Hesitantly he reached out and took it. For the longest time he simply stood and stared down at it. Finally as Robar turned and began to walk away, when he heard the rough voice, no more than a whisper. 

"She was in the Vale?" 

He stopped and turned. "Yes, she was in the Vale, at the Gates of the Moon." 

"And she was well?" 

"She seemed well enough to me. A bit frightened perhaps, timid I would say. She was the bastard daughter of Lord Baelish." 

The Gravedigger growled at his words. "She is with Littlefinger?" his hands clenched and he gripped the drawing tightly in his fists, still staring down at the picture. Robar nodded. 

After a few moments, he looked up, and tried to hand the picture back. "Keep it, I insist. I only wished to try and capture the girl the way she looked in your eyes." 

The Gravedigger hung his hand and traced his finger along the edge of the little bird, and softly spoke once more. "Thank you."


	5. The Cats of Braavos

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope this chapter turned out ok, i kinda wrote it in a hurry.

Robar sat atop some crates near the harbor sketching. He had been unable to find a ship to take him directly home to Dorne from Saltpans, but he was able to book passage on one headed for Braavos. Braavos was a major trading port, and he easily found a ship planning to set sail for Dorne in three days. He had been happily spending his days drawing the wonders of Braavos. The Titan was one of the nine wonders and he felt privileged to be able to see it in person and draw it. The Bravosi were a fun and colorful people and his newly purchased sketch books were quickly filling up with drawings of the flamboyant arrogant Bravos with their swords, strutting around proud as peacocks, Salt worn sailors loading ships. and the mysterious Courtesans sailing past in their barges draped with colorful silk and satin curtains. 

Each day while he had been sketching, a young street urchin girl had come by selling various shellfish. He had attempted to draw her in passing, She was small and lean, with short cropped hair. She had not yet made an appearance today so to pass the time, he was sketching cats. Braavos had more cats than anywhere he had ever been before. Off in the distance, he heard the familiar call of "Oysters, Clams, and Cockles!" He smiled and stopped his current sketch of the old tabby cat that was chewing on an rotting fish bone, and flipped through the pages back to the one he had been working on the last few days. 

The page was filled with several sketches of the girls face. She never stopped near him for more than a few minutes, always in a hurry to continue on down toward the harbor, eager to sell her wares. He could not seem to correctly capture her features to his liking. One day her eyes seemed big and wide, dark grey like storm clouds, the next day it would seem they were small and suspicious. Her nose and mouth continued to stump him as well, he just could not seem to get them correct. Never before had he been unable to draw a person the way he wished. This girl was a mystery to him, so he began to draw her with her head down, her face hidden in a shadow, her body sleek like the cats that followed her hoping for a stray cockle to fall off her barrow.

Today as he saw her approach she seemed to slow her steps, and looked over at him. She watched him curiously as she sold some clams to a group of passing sailors. After she collected her coins, she stashed them in a purse and tucked it away inside her shirt and wheeled her wares over to him. 

"What's that your drawing?" she asked. Robar laughed and tilted his sketchbook forward so she could see. "Is that supposed to be me?" she asked smiling. "Why are you drawing me?" 

"No reason, I simply like to draw the people I meet along my travels. My books are full of pictures of the interesting people I have met." he gestured to his open knapsack beside him that was full of his sketchbooks 

She bit her lip for a minute as she eyed the books. "Can I see them?" she asked hesitantly. 

He nodded and handed her one of the books. She turned through the pages, more gentle than he expected her to be. She held his books like they were a treasure, and looked at each and every face as if she were trying to memorize every detail. 

"You are really good." she said, suddenly stopping on one of the pages. He looked over to see which picture had captured her attention. He was surprised to see it was the portrait he had done of the bastard girl Alayne Stone. 

"Such a pretty girl. She looks so sad." She stared at the picture much longer than she had any of the others in his books. 

"You are not the first to tell me that. I confess I did not intend to draw her that way." 

She set the book down finally, then picked up the handles of her wheelbarrow and started to walk away. 

Suddenly she stopped after she had walked a few feet away and looked back at him. "That girl, the one in the picture. Was someone hurting her?" 

"Not that I was aware of." Robar said, surprised at the question. 

"I hope that she is somewhere safe." She said and continued to walk on down the path toward the harbor. 

"Would you like to have the drawing?" he called out to her. 

She laughed and did not stop walking. "What would I do with it? Besides, her hair color is all wrong." 

For a moment, Robar was stunned into silence at her words, that a second person had commented on the girls hair being the wrong color was an extraordinary coincidence. Before she was about to turn the corner, and be out of his sight, he called out to her once more. "What is your name?" 

She glanced back at him for a moment laughing. "Me? I'm no one!" she shouted back. Then he heard her shout her wares. "Oysters, Clams, and Cockles!" once more before she was gone, a trail of raggedy cats following her.


	6. The girl in the Torn and Dirty Dress

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know nothing about Horses and Horseshoes, So hopefully i didnt get any of that info wrong. 
> 
> Sorry for the delay in updating, I was out of town for 2 weeks and did not have access to my computer to work on my stories.
> 
> I am not 100% sure where I am going with the story from this point, but i will try and have an update in a few days at least, But a new story bug is hitting me so I will try and not get distracted by that one and forget about this one. :)
> 
> Thanks again for reading and encouraging me :)

Robar spent the next few years safely traveling Dorne, peacefully drawing the beauty of his homeland. Deadly Snakes hiding in the grass, laughing children swimming in the water gardens, and blood oranges broken upon the ground, their juices staining the cobblestones were the things he enjoyed drawing the most. He was relieved to be hidden away from the horrible things he had seen upon his travels, and soon the days turned into weeks, into months, into years, and finally the war of five kings was over. He fully expected to spend the rest of his days happily in Dorne. 

It was quite a surprise then, when he received a Raven one day. The raven had traveled far with a letter informing him that he was to journey to the North and visit Winterfell, at the personal request of the Lord of Winterfell himself, Rickon Stark, The warden of the North. Robar was confused by this, for in his travels he never made it as far as the North, having boarded a ship in Saltpans to return back to the South. He could not figure out why the Lord of Winterfell would be asking personally for him, but his curiosity was peeked, so he quickly packed up his art supplies and made arrangements to begin his journey. While packing he included a few of his old sketchbooks full of the images from his previous adventure, interested to see the changes in the people and land along the way. 

That was how he found himself on the Kingsroad near the Crossroads, with an injured horse. Upon inspection of his horses hooves, it appeared he had stumbled after throwing a shoe, and now was limping. Robar knew he was close to the crossroads inn, and hoped he could find a blacksmith there. The towns and villages he had traveled through so far had all been greatly rebuilt since his previous visits during the war, but most were still far from being fully restored. Thankfully after walking his horse the rest of the way, he found the crossroads inn warm and inviting, and a young smiling blacksmith at the forge who happily agreed to attend to his horse. 

The blacksmith had advised him to give his horse a few days to rest his injured leg, so Robar spent the next few days sketching the famous inn. He looked up from his drawing to see the young smith walking toward him. After talking for a few minutes, he saw the man was looking at his sketch. He smiled and turned the paper around so the young man could get a better look. 

"Do you only drawn buildings?" he asked. 

"No I draw all sorts of things. What ever catches my eye really." He reached into his knapsack and pulled a few of his books out. "Would you like to look thru them?" 

The blacksmith smiled happily and sat down next to him on the stone wall and began to flip through the pages. After a few minutes he laughed and showed Robar the book. "Who is this?" It was the girl from Braavos, and the page was filled with all his different attempts and capturing her face. 

"A young girl from Braavos, I had a difficult time drawing her. She almost seemed a different person every time I encountered her. She would not tell me her name, said she was No One." 

"She reminds me of a girl I knew during the war. Arya was her real name I suppose, but she went by many during the months I traveled with her, Arry, Nan, Weasel. She was quite a girl. I have missed her since we were separated." 

"Was she a sweetheart of yours?" Robar asked. 

The blacksmith laughed, "No, we were both just children then, and she was a highborn in disguise, too good for the likes of me. She was far from being a Lady though. One of my happiest memories with her was when we visited Acorn Hall and Lady Smallwood made her take a bath, and dressed her up in a fancy dress with all these little acorns embroidered on the bodice. I was shocked at how beautiful she was, I had never seen her dressed in anything other than dirty and ragged boys clothing. I had never seen her hair brushed or washed. I suppose I could not stop staring and it was not long before she started throwing punches at me and before I knew what was happening we were fighting in the dirt laughing and joking around like always, and that pretty new gown was dirty and torn. It was not long after that she was gone and lost to me forever." The blacksmith smiled sadly as he reminisced about his friend. 

"Was she killed in the war?" 

"Oh no, If anyone survived the war, I am sure it was her. Tough as nails that girl. I am sure she is alive and well somewhere. Perhaps she is even this strange girl from Braavos in your drawing. Nothing you could tell me about Arya Stark would surprise me." 

Robar was surprised when he heard the girls surname was Stark. How curious when he was now traveling to Winterfell and the home of the Stark family. The blacksmith had returned to his smithy, so he packed up his art supplies and went inside the Inn to search for some supper. 

The next morning he he headed to the stables and packed his saddle bags then made his way to the smithy. He found the blacksmith there working at his forge. He handed the young man the portrait he had sketched the night before. 

"Seven Hells" he exclaimed while looking at the drawing. Robar had tried to recreate the girl from Braavos, only now dressed in a torn and dirty green dress. He took time to detail tiny acorns around the bodice of her dress, just the way the smith had described to him. "This looks so much like Arya." he smiled before trying to hand the drawing back. 

"Keep it, I drew it for you. Consider it an addition to the payment for shoeing my horse." 

The blacksmith could not take his eyes from the paper now. Finally he looked up. "Thank you for this. I think about her often. She was the best friend I ever had. I will cherish it." 

Robar left the boy with his memories and returned to his horse, more excited than ever to arrive at Winterfell and find the answer to the mystery that awaited him there.


	7. The girl with a face of stone

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> not sure how I feel about this chapter. I have about 2 or 3 more to go before this story is finished.

Robar stood in the great hall of Winterfell, staring in awe at the sight before him. The young Lord Rickon Stark, Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North sat before him, wild auburn hair framing a face that seemed barely out of boyhood. At his feet sat the largest wolf he had ever seen. He had heard rumors that the Starks kept direwolves as pets, but until this moment he had never believed the stories to be true. The great black beast stared at him with his bright green eyes, but instead of being afraid, Robar felt a sense of wonder, as if he were witnessing something magical. He desperately wished to pull out his supplies and draw the scene before him, but he remained as he was and waited to hear the reason why the Lord of Winterfell had requested his visit. 

"Are you familiar with the tragedies that befell House Stark during the war Lord Fowler?" he began to speak. "I was barely older than a babe when my father and sisters left with King Robert to go to Kings Landing. Soon after, one by one, my family was lost to me. My mother, my brothers, friends and household members that I had known all my life, everyone was gone. I never believed I would see any of them again." 

"Recently I had the good fortune to be reunited with my eldest sister. I am told she looks like our mother, but when I look at her I only see Sansa. I cannot see my mothers face in her because I do not remember my mothers face. I do not remember my fathers or my brother Robb, or many of the others that I lost during the war." 

"My sister has told me of your great talent for drawing and capturing peoples true likeness. I wish for you to do a portrait for me." 

Robar smiled excitedly, "There is nothing I would like more than to draw you Lord Stark." 

"You misunderstood me. I do not wish for you to draw me. I wish for you to draw my lady wife. She is ill. She had greyscale as a child and although it was believed she was cured, it seems her illness simply remained dormant until now. The Maester tells me she will not last more than a year and they wish for me to send her away. I have refused, she is my wife and I gave her my cloak of protection, and will take care of her for the rest of her days. She is stronger than they give her credit for and I do not believe she will allow this affliction take her from me. But in case something were to happen, I could not bare it if someday, her face has faded from my memory like so many others before." 

Robar quickly agreed to the project, and he was lead through the halls of Winterfell and into a sitting room where he found Lady Shireen Baratheon Stark. She was lying on a couch propped up with pillows in front of a great stone fireplace reading a book. She smiled at him, and set her book down. She spoke a few quiet words with Lord Stark while he set up his easel and arranged his art supplies. Lord Rickon kissed his lady wife on the forehead before leaving the room, leaving them alone. 

"How do you wish me to pose?" she questioned quietly. She was a pretty girl with brown hair that fell in waves around her face. Half of her cheek and neck were covered in hard grey flaky patches. He knew little about greyscale other than it was usually fatal. Robar looked at her for a few moments, trying to decide the best way to begin his work. 

"However you are comfortable. Are you in much pain My Lady." he said. 

"Did they tell you I was sick?" she sighed. "This is old, I have had it since I was a baby." She gestured to her face. "This is new, its nothing really." She held out her left hand and wiggled her fingers. The tips of each one was beginning to turn black. 

"The Maester wanted to chop off my hand. He said it was the only way to stop it from spreading." she whispered looking down at her hand. "Rickon said if he tried he would cut off both of his." 

"I am truly sorry My Lady." Robar said sadly. 

"I know they are pressuring him to send me away, to take another wife. The North needs an heir." she wiped away a lone tear that was on her cheek. "He does not even know, I can not bring myself to tell him. He is already so upset, worried that I might die. How do I tell him that I am already with child. That is when the greyscale returned. The Maester wants me to leave before Rickon finds out. He says they greyscale will spread and I will not survive the birth." 

Robar began to sketch "Perhaps we can find a way to tell him together." After a few minutes, he turned the drawing to show her his rough outline. She smiled and nodded her head excitedly. 

After a few hours of painting he looked over to see that Lady Shireen had fallen asleep. He finished up his work, then rose from his seat and walked toward her. She woke quickly and apologized for falling asleep. She rose from the couch and came over to examine his work. 

Tears came to her eyes as she looked at his painting. He had drawn her sitting with a bundled babe in her arms. He kept half of her face in shadows, but tried hard to capture the details, the big blue eyes, squared jaw, her bright smile. "I fear you have drawn me too pretty My Lord" she said. 

"I believe I have drawn you exactly as Lord Rickon sees you." He said as he began to clean up his paints. Suddenly the door to the room burst open and a small boy ran into the room giggling. A woman ran after him chastising him. 

"Aldor I told you, Aunt Shireen has a visitor right now." she scolded as she scooped the boy up in her arms. She turned toward him, brushing her hair away from her face. "I apologize for the interruption....." she began to say, stopping when she saw him staring at her. She smiled happily at him. "Hello again." she said softly.

They had been right, the gravedigger at the Quiet Isle, the girl in Braavos, the hair had been all wrong. Standing before him, her hair now a brilliant fiery red, was the girl from the Vale he had drawn all those years before. The difference in her hair transformed her from a simple pretty maid to the most radiant creature he had ever seen. She reminded him of the mythical phoenix rising from the ashes to become more beautiful than before. 

She smiled and motioned for him to follow her. "Come with me Lord Fowler. We have much to talk about."


End file.
